


the lucian king

by mushydesserts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: I have no excuses, M/M, The Lion King AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-04 07:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10986342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mushydesserts/pseuds/mushydesserts
Summary: Noct won't remember much about the day Insomnia fell later.He'll remember the fire, the burst of splintering crystal, the smell of burning glass and stone. The blades of the King's soldiers crashing to the ground, metal shards clanging. His father's body on the white marble floor, grey-feather hair stained red, limp like a broken doll in front of him. The blue light at his fingertips, and Chancellor Izunia's pale face in the shadow, horrible with pity and grief:Go, Prince Noctis. Run.He doesn't look back.(The Lion King AU. Kinkmeme fill, WIP.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> if you gave me an extra year of life you know what i would apparently spend it on 
> 
> that's right 
> 
> writing movie aus for final fantasy xv 
> 
> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=2555592). Regrettably there are no musical numbers, but please imagine Ardyn singing in a fully-sequined hat and tear-off trousers.

Noct won't remember much about the day Insomnia fell later.

He'll remember the fire, the burst of splintering crystal, the smell of burning glass and stone. The blades of the King's soldiers crashing to the ground, metal shards clanging. His father's body on the white marble floor, grey-feather hair stained red, limp like a broken doll in front of him. The blue light at his fingertips, and Chancellor Izunia's pale face in the shadow, horrible with pity and grief: _Go, Prince Noctis. Run._

He picks himself up and throws himself out the door, down the crumbling streets of Insomnia, ignoring the screams and shouts of citizens fleeing the destruction raining down. He runs until he's out of breath and tears are streaming down his face, salt cutting through the grime collecting on his skin; he melts into the crush of people at the gates, slipping out amongst the crowd, just another lost boy without a home anymore. He runs until the walled city is just a smudge on the horizon behind him, sky dark above, and collapses from exhaustion in an empty shed in a burnt-out field, tiny winged bugs tangled in his hair and sand caked on his skin so thick he thinks he might choke.

The next day, he gets up with the wide red sun and walks into the dustlands.

He doesn't look back.

\---

They'll tell him later that he was half-dead by the time they found him. Semi-conscious, dead-eyed, tattered and dizzy from lack of food and water, he'd fallen into a heap somewhere just outside of Leide, a cloud of daggerquills picking distastefully at him from time to time. ("Even they didn't want you, dude. That is _sad.")_ They'd thought the daemons had got to him at first, left the pieces behind for the sunrise.

He remembers hearing the ring of gunshots, a burst of squawking and a rush of feathers, someone yelling. Crunching footsteps. Quiet.

"Yowch. Poor guy." The voice sounds like wince.

A calmer, more subdued voice in the distance: "I'll clean up here. Check him for tags. Dave might know him."

Noct tries to turn his head, but his neck is stiff, sore, head pounding. A hand slides under his ribs, fingers pulling gently at his shoulder. Someone is trying to roll him over. Noct tries to say something, but only a moan comes out of his parched throat. _No. Leave me alone._

A quick intake of breath. "Iggy! Come quick, I — it's alive!"

"What? Prompto, stand — "

The hand draws back, and the sudden movement sends a surge of panic through Noct's limbs. He sees only a bleary haze, sun beating down with a furor; there's wide blue eyes, the flash of daggers somewhere behind.

"No," Noct rasps. His legs won't move. He turns his face toward the shadows. Someone is touching his wrist. He tries to draw his hand back, tries to tell them _you're wrong, I'm dead,_ but the press of fingers is hot against his skin, or maybe his skin is what's blazing up, and when his body won't kick against the discomfort, he feels the charge in his blood, too late, fingers flexing —

"Astrals!" The hand withdraws.

"Dude! Are you okay? What was that?"

Noct doesn't know what it is that he's called. A blur of blades that won't settle, smashed bottles, beetle shells and lightning. Whatever it is, it's useless to him now. He moans again, shuts his eyes against the dying flash of light.

"Whoa. I've never seen anybody do that. Hey, Iggs? Iggy? What — "

"Magic, Prompto." The voice sounds shaken. "He's from the Crown City."

"Really?" A quiet few footsteps forward, uncertain. "Wait, you mean..."

"He must be one of the Glaives."

"How'd he get out here?" The voice sounds strange. Distressed. "Iggy... what if he's like us?"

The reply is wary. "Step back. We'd best leave him be."

Footsteps turning, heels grinding the gravel. _Help me,_ Noct thinks. But also, _Leave me be._

No second set of footsteps follow. "Wait, no. We — we can't leave him here. Look at him. He can't do anything. He's alone out here."

The first set stops. "Do you want to take the chance that he'll alert the authorities? What if they come looking for us? If he sees you and he knows — "

Gentler: "It's fine. We've managed so far, right?"

A long pause. A silent war.

A sigh. "He doesn't want to be moved."

"Of course he doesn't, he's hurt! We've gotta, I don't know, we've gotta help him."

"Prompto, I must remind you, he is not your friend."

Defiant. "You don't know that! We haven't given him a chance yet. Look, I mean — I didn't know you would be my friend either, at first."

The footsteps draw closer again. "What are the chances you'll be lucky twice?" The voice sounds tired but fond.

"I don't know, but — maybe he just needs to be lucky once. Just — " It trails off. "Can't we _do_ something?"

Noct presses his fingers into the dirt beneath him, planet spinning around him, his skin hot like firaga, and he thinks of his father's solemn grey eyes, a silver crown, his mother's marble tomb and a smiling girl in a garden and a fire in the night, blue flowers, toy trucks, a boy gripping a wooden stick like it's the only thing between those he loves and the dark.

"Fine. Help me move him."

The world fades.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Once, back when the war had been distant and Noctis had been small, his father had taken him for a tour of the Citadel.

Restless child as he'd been, Noctis had seen most of the palace already; he'd spent countless evenings in the dusty libraries, the lavish solariums, the sunlit gardens; he'd drawn chalk pictures on the stone walks in the courtyards, snuck biscuits out to the ballroom balconies, curled up with books in the corners of the cozy sitting rooms with the gilded urns and the old wood fireplaces. But touring with his father had been different. People stood at attention, offered a full bow in place of the nod Noctis usually got. Doors were opened for them. His father had a long stride, and Noctis had had to run to keep pace before his father had scooped him up to sit on his shoulders.

They'd taken the spiral staircase up from the King's study to the top levels, only accessible through one other elevator. His father had led him out to the balcony at the highest point, and there they were: Insomnia spread out beneath them, city alive as far as the eye could see, winking and glittering like a jewel.

His father had stood with his hands on the railing while Noctis had stood on his tiptoes to peer over the edge. "Where do you think our prosperity comes from, Noctis?"

Noctis hadn't known what _prosperity_ meant. His inquisitive look had made his father hide a smile.

"The clothes on your back," he had clarified. "The food you eat. The people who protect you. The Crown — " he'd tapped the side of his head, " — that I wear."

Noctis had not known how to answer.

"It's the people," his father had said. "All the people who live down there. They are our people, people like me and you. We owe them our lives and our power. We are nothing without them. That is why we must protect them."

Noctis had absorbed this. "Is that why you wear the ring?" he had asked.

His father had looked solemn. "Yes. And one day, you will wear it, too."

Noctis had looked back out over the city. He had wondered if he would ever be big enough to protect any of it. His father had seemed infallible then, a solid towering figure on whose shoulders a kingdom could comfortably rest. "Everything?" he'd said. "You protect all of it?"

"Yes. Everything from here to the Wall."

Noctis had stood in the embrace of the midday breeze, looking down to the streets so far below, the bridges and the skyscrapers. To a child who had only ever seen a fraction of it, it had seemed to go on forever. His city. He'd wanted to wander all of it, every nook and cranny, make it his own, call it home.

Noctis had allowed his gaze to drift up, up and outward, to where the smog haze had risen to touch the sky. Somewhere out there, the city ended.

"What's it like?" Noctis had said. "Outside the Wall?"

Regis had looked down at his son then, and he'd looked tired, and proud, and sad.

"If we're fortunate," he'd said, "You'll never know."

\---

Wide. Bright. And empty. That's what Noct discovers when he steps out of the caravan.

He'd woken up stinking of sweat and dirt, faintly woozy but clear-headed for the first time in longer than he cared to guess. He'd peeled the old blankets off the cot and staggered out the flimsy door into the sun, where he was greeted by the sight of a young man with bright gold hair in the shade under the awning, feet up on a camp chair, pistol half-assembled in his lap.

"Hey," the man had greeted cheerfully, barely glancing up from his weapon.

Noct had looked around him, lost and uncertain.

"Iggy's off bartering the stuff we picked up earlier," the man had said, as if that should have explained anything. "He should be back any time now." He'd checked the alignment of the barrel.

Noct had looked out across the cracked sand, air wavering over the hot paved lots, the scattered buildings and wire fences that could barely be called an outpost. He felt as if he'd woken up in another body, another life, and had no idea what he was supposed to do with it.

The man had apparently sensed his confusion and decided to take pity. "Oh! Sit," he had invited, lifting his feet off the second camp chair.

Noct had sat. There had been a pitcher of water on the table. He'd fumbled with the stack of cups, managed to pour himself a drink, and nursed it blankly until the second hunter arrived, a half-empty sack of animal parts slung over his shoulder and a paper bag of groceries cradled in his arm.

"Our guest is awake," Iggy had observed with a faint smile. "Prompto, help me with dinner?" The blond had jumped up.

Now, as they sit around the table in the evening, gas lamp casting warm light over their faces, the two other men dig into their food without hesitation, chatting about the news from the market between gulps of canned beer. Noct's glad enough for his share, but can't seem to force it down.

After his hosts watch him pick at his skewers for the better part of ten minutes, one finally speaks up.

"Dude, you gotta eat something," the one called Prompto says.

Noct glances up, flushes. He doesn't want to seem ungrateful. "Thanks," he manages, voice rusty. He clears his throat. "I'm just... not feeling well."

"Okay, just try a few bites. Nobody cooks gigantoad like Iggy here does. I mean, it is an _experience_."

Noct obediently lifts one slowly to his mouth. He takes a nibble, makes himself chew. It is good, despite his lack of appetite — gamey and spicy and moist. He swallows.

Prompto looks at him in awe. "I have never seen anyone chew Iggy's food as miserably as you do," he says.

Iggy sighs. "Prompto..."

Prompto just gives Iggy an apologetic look. When he focuses back on Noct, setting down his can gently, he looks serious.

"So. You're from the Crown City?"

Noct looks up, hollow. He nods. "Yeah."

Prompto and Iggy glance at each other. "Is it true? What they say happened there?"

Noct looks down. "Yes," he says shortly. He doesn't know what it is they say, but whatever it is, it can't be worse than the truth.

"Yikes." Prompto winces. "Sorry."

Noct lets the sympathy wash over him. If there's nobody left to grieve with him, at least there's somebody here to pity him, somebody who doesn't know who he is. What he did.

"How'd you end up all the way out here?"

Noct blinks dully. He can't remember. He doesn't even know where he is. "I just... walked."

Iggy sits back, green eyes curious. "We were surprised the daemons hadn't gotten the best of you," he says.

Prompto leans forward and lowers his voice. "But well, then we saw the — the thing you did, with the — fizzy stuff." He seems unsure. "Iggy says you're one of the Glaive."

The magic. Noct wants to scrub it from his fingertips. "No. I'm not," he says flatly. "I'm not anybody." _Not anymore._

The two men exchange glances again. "Sure," Prompto says sagely.

They seem to have come to their own conclusions about him. Noct lets them think what they will. It's better that he's mistaken for a deserter, or a traitor, or whatever they think he is, than for anybody to know the truth about him.

Iggy studies him thoughtfully. "Where to from here, for you?" he asks.

Noct looks down at his cup. "Nowhere. Away, I guess."

"Do you have money? Shelter?"

He has no reason to lie. "No."

Prompto looks at Iggy, as if seeking permission. When Iggy makes no move to stop him, Prompto nervously fiddles with his can, watching Noct.

"I bet you'd make a pretty good hunter out here. What with your skills and all," he says.

Noct blinks.

"We hunt, Iggy and I," Prompto clarifies. "For a living." He raises his pistol, gives it an easy spin on his finger, mock-fires at an imaginary monster as if to demonstrate. _"Pew pew."_

"It doesn't pay much, but the larger beasts net larger sums," Iggy says. "We can split the bounties from the local hunts, if you wish. You can stay with us until you get back on your feet."

Prompto looks eager. "I mean. It's not  _so_ much that we can take on with just two of us, but with you? You might be just the break we need!"

Noct licks his lips. "I don't..." He hesitates. "I don't know how to hunt."

"You know how to fight, clearly," Iggy says.

"Not... really." He'd practiced, but never for real, never... _Think you can beat me? Watch your stance, Noct. I won't always be around to bail you out._

"It's not so hard to pick up," Prompto asserts. "We can start easy. Small."

Noct looks away.

He has nothing out here. Nobody. Not even his name. He thinks about the desert, about walking feverish and aching feet, nothing for miles; about rain in his boots, the bony jaws of some wild animal around his arm; about the endless roads and fields behind him.

He's outside the Wall now. And these hunters — they've been kind. Are kind now, faces wary and hopeful. Even if they left him for dead, he'd be no worse off, would he?

Noct's hand drifts to the signet ring on the cord around his neck.

_Just a rock, out here._

There's nothing left for him back there.

"Sure," he says.

 

**Author's Note:**

> don't look at me i just want to read some gladio/noctis au bullshit is that too much to as k ??
> 
> talk to me at [mushydesserts.tumblr.com](https://mushydesserts.tumblr.com/)


End file.
